His Young Maid: A Forbidden Boss Age Gap Romance Daisy Jane (love letters to the dead TXT) 📖

Britta’s brow crinkled as she shrugged the offer away. “It’s fine, okay, I’m fine and it’s fine,” she said, her tone lacking life. She was exhausted, I could see it. It killed me.

“Call me when he goes,” Melody said, dragging Donny out by the arm.

“Later bro,” he called to me, and I raised my eyebrows in acknowledgement.

Once the door closed, my arms were around her, pulling her into my chest. I wanted her to tell me everything, I wanted to fucking kill that sick piece of shit Nolan, I wanted to make her quit and come live with me. But it was too much for her to handle right now, I could see that, so instead I held her as she wept into my chest, broken yet steady sobs.

“Come to my place for the night, please. I can’t leave you here. I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I don’t want to be alone, either,” she admitted, “I didn’t think I’d sleep at all tonight.”

“What do you need?” I looked around the small space, wondering if there was a bag she needed to bring with her, and then I said fuck it. “Whatever you need, we’ll get you. Come on, I don’t want you here a minute longer.”

She pulled away, using the heels of her palms to wipe away the tears under her eyes.

“Here? I know it’s a shithole but you can’t rescue me from my life, Brooks. I live here.”

Fuck, I’d offended her. And I really hadn’t meant to come off condescending. I just don’t want her alone, in this condition, after whatever had happened today—which still had my blood boiling, rage clawing under the surface of my skin.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said, reaching for her hands, taking them in mine.

“He just thought he could touch me. And it made me think, what if that’s how you see me, too?” her eyes dropped to my feet as she spoke and I could see the darkness inside of the confession. It had been eating her, tearing her ideas and beliefs about me to shreds.

I could’ve been outraged. I could’ve said I can’t believe you’d think that about me. But, to be fair, she didn’t know me that well. Not yet. And though I physically pleased her, that wasn’t emotionally reassuring. And that’s clearly what she needed now.

“Britta,” I said calmly. “I want you to know me. And I want to know you. And after that happens, you’ll see that I don’t see you the way that he sees you.” I pause to pull her hands to my face, brushing her knuckles with a kiss. “I see you. Let me prove it, please,” I pulled her back into me and she returned my hug but I could feel the hesitancy in her touch.

“Come to my house, we’ll eat, you can have a bath and sleep in the guest bedroom. It locks, I can stay away. But please, Britta, don’t shut me out. I don’t want you here alone.”

It was all I had, the only thing I could think to say in the moment. And just as the panic made its way up my throat, heart racing with the adrenaline brought on by her silence, her head nodded up and down against my chest.

“Okay,” she croaked out, her voice tiny and strained.

In my arms, against my chest, I carried her down the stairs and put her in the car, buckling the belt around her. Her eyes were filled with tears as she stared blankly out the front windshield. My heart strained seeing her that way. She’d gone through something awful which was bad enough but then her trauma made her rethink a very good thing with me and question everything.

As I walked around the back of my car, I couldn’t help but think of Nolan. At my age, you didn’t pop off and hit people—all that got you was injured and sued. But a spark was ignited inside of me, seeing Britta hurt this way.

Maybe I wasn’t too old to throw a good punch.

11

Brooks

She’s silent on the drive and I don’t press her. I hate that she’s hurting and that for some time she believed that I was part of that. I hope that she believes I wasn’t taking advantage of her, treating her like a thing to be used, like Nolan was. Then something burned hot under my skin, around my collar and I found myself uncomfortable, shifting in my seat. I had treated a woman that way, though, and it wasn’t that long ago.

The last girl I dated, Darcy, she was a woman I signed a contract to have sex with, to have in my home, attachment free. I looked over at Britta, her knees pulled to her chest, her head resting against the passenger window, the moonlight drifting inside the car making her skin glow. I’d told her I didn’t see her like Nolan did—like a plaything for a wealthy person, as if her feelings made no difference—but if she knew I’d been paying a prostitute for months, she’d never believe me. She’d never trust me. But if I wanted her to trust me, I had to tell her.

Fuck. Why hadn’t I thought this far down the line before I paid a high-end hooker to sleep over twice a week for four months? Didn’t I think that if I ever had another real girlfriend, I’d have to come clean? Maybe somewhere inside I didn’t believe I’d find anyone.

I didn’t believe that now, though. Not now that I knew Britta.

I want to get her talking, get her mind moving, so she’s not focused on whatever the fuck that piece of shit Nolan said to her. I’ll get that out of her, I will, but I can’t push. And there’s still so much I want to know, though somewhere inside I know it doesn’t matter how she answers any of my questions. I fucking want her,